


Little Wonder

by scrapbullet



Series: Born To [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Consensual Sex, Implied Mpreg, Implied Non-Consensual Drug Use, Implied Non-Consensual Pregnancy, M/M, Manipulative Thranduil, Non-Explicit Sex, Oblivious Bard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 15:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man tastes of copper and sweat, a salt-sting of bittersweet mortality that stings the palate. The warm clutch of Bard's body is a welcome reprieve from the endless banality of eternity, and Thranduil drinks of him with a fervour that surprises even himself. </p><p>This coupling, this seduction, was never meant to be so sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Wonder

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Little Wonder](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2857049) by [suirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suirin/pseuds/suirin)



The man tastes of copper and sweat, a salt-sting of bittersweet mortality that stings the palate. The warm clutch of Bard's body is a welcome reprieve from the endless banality of eternity, and Thranduil drinks of him with a fervour that surprises even himself. 

This coupling, this seduction, was never meant to be so sweet. Bard is a man full-grown and strong of limb and spirit, his mouth yielding to the pressure of kisses both chaste and intimate, and yet... and yet he is possessed of a dignity that only royalty can exude, a sense that whatever may fall upon his shoulders will be carried regardless of weight.

_(It reminds Thranduil of King Girion of Dale, a man broad of form and of unwavering strength. That day, so long ago for some but so little to his kind, Girion had stood tall and strong and proud to defend his people. There are few mortal men that Thranduil can claim to have respected, very few indeed, but Girion... oh, _Girion_... if Thranduil had had to choose, it would have been he._

_Alas, Girion is no more, and what was promised to him so many centuries ago by those royal ancestors of Dale is only now coming to pass; to save his ailing, dying people he must subject himself to this, lower and debase himself and yet... Bard is such a pretty thing...)_

Regardless, it's something of a surprise to find that beneath the hard, cold lust there is respect, if only just a little. There is enough for Thranduil to ease the way with warm oil, at least, to press his fingers slow and careful inside to discover another's pleasure, to take his time before slaking his own lust, nose buried in hair that smells of open air and cedarwood ash.

After, when Bard is loose and languid, Thranduil will rest his palm upon the man's belly and muse on the life that will ultimately grow there, aided by tonics and ointments and old magic. He will whisper a prayer to Iluvatar himself to bless him with a child, lest his Legolas succumb to darkness, and he will smile, content in the knowledge that for all his strength Bard cannot fight it, cannot fight _him_ , will give in and continue on. 

After, yes, but this is now; Bard panting, breath hot and heady as Thranduil fucks into him, strokes long, assured and resolved. This is now, and for a man Bard is alive and beautiful.

Pleasure rises and falls like a wave, eroding the sands of Bard's resolve. There is release, and starlight, and for this moment, here, now, there is no pain.

There will be a child, whether Bard wishes it or not.


End file.
